Anchors Away and Murder

by Patti Larsen

  Then again, we’d suffered through a rash of murders over the last two years since I’d moved home, so I held my breath and did my best to trust Crew knew what he was doing leaving Robert behind unsupervised. Considering the council had quieted down about their opposition to Olivia in the face of the success of her corporate retreat initiative, at least I didn’t have Geoffrey Jenkins to deal with. The town councilor and husband of one of the local Pattersons still gave me the creeps. The fact he was no longer campaigning so openly to replace Olivia was a mix of nervous relief and anxiety. What I saw out in the open I could at least tackle head on. But what if more insidious things were happening under the surface of the cutest town in America? The fact there had been zero word about Blackstone Corporation or their role in the almost loss of the Zip It! park my friend Jared Wilkins helped open wasn’t lost on me, either. Nice to see my friend no longer so stressed out and stretched thin, to watch tension and anxiety leave his handsome face the more he leaned on his new fiancé, Alicia Conway. The fact the two of them were planning their wedding in the annex, just like his mother, Aundrea, and Pamela just a few short months ago filled me with the kind of happy pride I struggled to keep to myself every time I saw the delighted couple.

  Funny how the heart chose to focus on the here and now and the things that could be seen and felt instead of the darker and more mysterious secrets that maybe should have taken priority. Still, it was easy to let all of that slide for the time being, what with being so busy I could barely find time to eat and all.

  Maybe I was dropping the ball, but for now I was happy to focus on Petunia’s and the annex and my flowering love life.

  “Has he come up with anything new regarding you know what?” Daisy’s broad wink and not-so-subtle reference to our shared investigation into the Reading hoard made me giggle. She was so hilarious about the whole thing, her attempts at clandestine chatter when I included her in my talk with Crew after he revealed his past connections to town enough to make this whole search worth it, treasure or no treasure.

  While the three of us carefully connected the dots we had access to, Crew’s reveal his grandfather Alistair Markham was the author of the book in question, the very tome my Grandmother Iris directed me to find through the clues of her music box and the various other bits and pieces, did little to help us crack whatever code it was kept us from finding the hoard. Crew’s scrap of the map was interesting and connected to mine, but aside from the tattoo he wore on his wrist—the same one his father wore, inked as a tribute to his own dad—and the sheriff’s familiarity with the book, he had nothing new to offer.

  Not that I cared. Honestly, every step of that particular mystery had led me deeper into the kind of giddy joy that reminded me of being a happy kid waiting for Santa at Christmas. I was more than delighted to let it linger. I guess, in part because a healthy slice of me really didn’t think we’d uncover the treasure after all. Doubloon or not, I found it hard to believe we’d find anything after so many treasure hunters debunked the myth.

  Still, there was enough of a trail of breadcrumbs I had zero reticence about sharing the curiosity and fun with my bestie and the guy who was well on the way to becoming my boyfriend.

  That happy thought in my heart, I found it easy to smother any remaining animosity that might linger as a young brunette with her nose in the air and the kind of attitude that set me off the moment I saw her swept through my front door.

  ***

  Chapter Three

  Now, it wasn’t that Rose and I were exactly enemies, per se. Daisy’s step-sister was more of an annoying irritant with a slowly growing list of personality traits and emotional attributes that ground my teeth together and made me want to smack her until she stopped being an arrogant twit who really had no reason to treat the world around her like it owed her something.

  Yeah, okay, so frenemies. Made worse because she was, after all, Daisy’s step-sister.

  It was just that attitude she wore like a set of queenly robes, an invisible wrapping of I’m better than you and don’t you know it that made my teeth ache and my stomach clench. And as far as I could tell there was zero reason for her gloating mightier than thou. She normally lived at home with her parents in Montpelier, a late twentysomething who didn’t hold a permanent job of any kind with the sort of normal looks and overly skinny frame that leaned away from pretty and into emaciated and a complete lacking in social skills and graces that might endear her to the average person.

  Judgmental, who, me?

  Rose’s eyes settled on mine as she paused in the entry, her patterned dress so reminiscent of Daisy’s wardrobe I was positive she’d gone shopping in my bestie’s closet. Giant gold rim sunglasses perched in her dark brown hair, the flat brown of her gaze, as always, sweeping over me as if she judged every single strand of my auburn hair out of place—messy buns were a thing, right?—every minute stain on the front of my button up despite my hard work to stay clean, each individual but obvious flaw that she’d rather be caught dead than exhibit in public. I flinched and forced a smile, refusing to allow my traitor hands to rise and touch my mass of red hair, to smooth the front of my shirt or my green eyes to flicker downward to check and see if I had something embarrassing happening elsewhere on my person.

  Daisy hurried to her step-sister’s side as if sensing the tension, her apologetic smile aimed at Rose as much as me. She hurried the younger woman past me and into the kitchen, ending our happy interaction and reminding me that my relationship with Daisy, while still awesome, had been strained since Rose appeared a week ago.

  The longest week of my life, without Crew, and dealing with Miss Awesomepants. I did my best to hide how I was feeling if only to smooth things over with Daisy. But it was hard to pull back on my animosity, aimed at the dull, distasteful expression on the face of the young woman who’d recently shown up daily at my bed and breakfast and set down the kind of roots that made me think she was staying put no matter what I had to say about the matter. The fact that Rose Norton was Daisy’s step-sister kind of curtailed my ability to kick her sorry butt out of my place, since said Daisy was now a partner. Still, just the way my bestie reacted every time she set eyes on her sort-of sibling raised my blood pressure and told me in no uncertain terms who it was I had to blame for sowing the seeds of not good enough in Daisy’s mind.

  I’d always wondered why my best friend was so hard on herself, just who it was in her life prior to my return to Reading had undermined her to the point she could barely hold down a job let alone feel confident enough to do what she now did—run events and staff in our very successful business. But since Rose’s appearance less than a week ago, Daisy’s steady increase in confidence had visibly paled to the point I hated the sight of her step-sister’s brown hair and eyes, her overly thin face and narrow nose, the way she looked down on Daisy and everything else at Petunia’s like she was assessing us for value in her world. Where the little pain in my patootie got off carrying around her ego in such a massive bundle of all that and a chocolate chip cookie that rivaled Vivian French’s attitude I had no idea. But her sense of entitlement was getting old, fast.

  Case in point, I witnessed yet another instance of bossypants behind thinly veiled disdain as I followed the pair into Mom’s domain. Rose waved to Daisy with a lazy wrist, fingers flicking in my direction. “Your serving girls left a platter in the dining room.” Like she couldn’t have brought it into the kitchen with her? “They really need a talking to, Day.” I hated she used that beloved nickname like she deserved to let it pass her lips. “Honestly, I don’t know how you get along working in such a provincial setup.”

  Argh, snarl, growl, shriek. Internally, because I loved Daisy. But externally was pending.

  Daisy actually twitched but when I glanced at her, hoping for anger, I caught a flare of disappointment and more than enough self-judgment it confirmed my suspicions about Rose’s involvement in her undermining all over again. Why Daisy put up with her I had no idea. Her father divorced Ros
e’s mother years ago, when Daisy was fifteen. They weren’t even technically family anymore. Then again, if Daisy decided you were hers, you were hers for life. That part of her I loved had clearly turned around to bite her in the butt.

  “I’ll take care of it,” Daisy said, turning and hurrying from the kitchen in pursuit of the guilty platter while Rose smiled indulgently after her. When her eyes met mine, I made it clear and apparent just what I thought of her. And from the flat line of her own expression as she absorbed my visible dislike? The feeling was mutual.

  Good. We were on the same page. I’d hate to think she’d have any doubts about why I dumped her on the curb when the time came to heave her out my front door.

  Mom didn’t seem to be troubled by Rose’s comment, nor to pay a bit of attention when the young woman’s terrible attitude showed up, like just now. Despite the fact Dad was away on a case outside town, my mother had never seemed happier, glowing as she created yet another culinary masterpiece that filled the space with the kinds of smells that made me want to lick the bowl.

  I was about to suggest Rose find something to do aside from sit at the kitchen counter and take up space—after all she was here on the premise she was working for Daisy, right? Sure she was—when Mom turned on me with that glowing kind of smile that told me no matter what sort of mood I was in now, it was impossible to say no to her.

  Sigh. Moms.

  “Fee, thank goodness.” She spun and grasped for a box of tinfoil-wrapped something that smelled like chicken, depositing it into my arms. “The boy we hired is late and I need help running the rest of the food to the club.”

  And just like that I was delegated as a delivery girl. Never mind I owned the place or anything, Mom.

  ***

  Chapter Four

  Despite my best intentions, then, I found myself loading Mom, three boxes of food and two trays of sweets into my car, Petunia firmly ensconced on my mother’s lap with her harness tugging against her excited body. Maybe it wasn’t a great idea to bring the pug along. She practically drooled on Mom’s shoulder as she leaned as far over my mother as she could, big eyes white around the edges while she smacked her lips and panted at her proximity to all of that deliciousness. But she’d been cooped up in the B&B she was named for far too long and a bit of a romp outside would be good for her.

  I might have been running again, happy to be back in shape, but the idea of taking her with me for my exercise jaunts was really ludicrous. Besides, I much preferred to share such outings with Crew these days. Something about his handsome, sweaty self pounding the path next to me roused visuals of other kinds of activities we really needed to explore together that might lead to accelerated heartrates.

  Inhale. Exhale. Hormones.

  The five minute drive would have been hilarious if we’d had a video camera, Mom wrangling the wriggling pug while I navigated the busy streets of our town on our way to the lakeside. When I finally parked, Petunia’s butt on the gearshift as Mom’s red cheeks told me she was at the end of her rope with the overexcited creature, I gladly took the surprisingly strong pug in my arms while Mom unclasped her seatbelt.

  “Maybe we leave her home next time.” That was as close as Mom would ever get to criticizing Petunia. Her narrowed green eyes skimmed over the pug before meeting mine. “Okay, sweetie?”

  I grinned, couldn’t help it, while Mom got out and started unloading the car. Juggling necessary items kept my hands full, so when my cell buzzed insistently, I tossed it, warm from my pocket, into one of the boxes after a quick message check that had it vibrating. Just a few notes from Daisy on the day, nothing serious, but I had to text her back. The visible disappointment on Petunia’s wide, flat face, set me off on a round of giggles that only increased Mom’s irritation to the point she didn’t say goodbye, huffing off with her arms loaded down with food boxes and my phone, leaving me to take the rest of the items while the pug sagged in dejection.

  Crap, I had to get my cell back. I heaved Petunia out of the car and set her down, her solid self about as wieldy as hefting a bag of potatoes. Her good humor returned the instant I set her on the parking lot pavement, her seemingly unending supply of happiness renewing my own good humor, though her eager attempts to saunter off on her own made retrieving and carrying the remainder of Mom’s items more difficult that it should have been. Arms overladen with two boxes full of plastic cutlery and enough napkins to soak up Cutter Lake, I let the pug lead the way, following her as she snuffled and snorted her joyful waddle toward the docks and the party already underway.

  I grinned at Lily Myers as she looked up from painting a lion on a little girl’s face. She waved before getting back to her task. While she might have been helping out today, her usual job was much more challenging. As the local dog trainer, she’d done a great job with Petunia, helping me figure out a healthier diet and exercise for the once portly pug. And while the mistress of my B&B wasn’t exactly svelte, she’d come a long way from the truly obese creature I’d taken on with my grandmother’s business.

  I kept moving, averting my eyes from the sweeping attention of none other than Olivia Walker, knowing she stared at me as I hustled past, but refusing to meet her gaze just now. Hard to miss her glaring attention as it seemed to pierce my back when I hurried by. At least she didn’t chase me down, seeming to prefer the company of Lester Patterson. The red faced and round middled president of the Reading Yacht Club with his receding hairline and jolly joviality had his beady eyes on my mother’s behind as she settled her burden on the food table and proceeded to set out the catering. I fought the urge to throw something at him, grossed out by his blatant attention in my mother’s direction and wished Dad was here to do the defending her honor deed. Instead, knowing Mom was a big girl who could take care of herself, I instead let it go, wondering as I did when I’d forgotten my mother was actually a really beautiful woman. Of course men would look at her, right? And I had her looks as a prequel to my own future, so I knew I wasn’t going to age badly. Still, it creeped me out and made me want to go home and wash my brain out with bleach.

  The second thought that crossed my mind as I joined Mom, Petunia instantly wrapping herself around my mother’s legs as she twisted and turned until her leash was hopelessly tight, forcing my mother to stop what she was doing and release the pug, was to wonder about the Patterson family dynamic. After all, Geoffrey was married to a Patterson, right? And he’d been hot and heavy after Olivia’s job. But here she was making nice with another of the clan if her fake laughter and tolerance of the leering Lester was doing at present was any indication. Then again, was she faking her joviality? For all I knew the mayor loved his attention, despite his wandering eyes (watch where you’re staring, jerkface—that’s my mother’s cleavage, not yours). So, were there factions inside the founding family of our little town? Or had the Patterson tide turned back in Olivia’s favor? Was she purposely pandering to them to keep her job?

  So many questions and far too much speculation. Maybe I should have written a column about it.

  Heh.

  When I turned from tugging Petunia closer to me, Mom’s frustration so clear at last I knew if I didn’t act to save the pug she’d be meeting the sad end of Mom’s disfavor, I had an answer to at least one of my questions. I looked up at the instant our town’s council joined Olivia, Geoffrey in their ranks, and witnessed the utter disdain and revulsion on Lester’s face when his eyes met those of the accountant who’d married into the family.

  As for the slimy councilman I hadn’t trusted from our first meeting, his visible response was just as visceral, making it very clear to me without a word spoken between them just what they thought of each other. And was that a smug grin on Olivia’s face in response?

  Yup, she was brilliant to a fault. I just hoped she wasn’t backing a horse that would founder in the backstretch.

  “Lester.” Geoffrey’s words carried, tone sharper than his usual shark-like subtlety.

  “Geoff, old boy.” Lester’s vo
ice sounded like he’d been smoking two packs a day for the majority of his life with a hearty bit of laughing at the world under it. “Gail kick your sad butt out yet?” He guffawed, an honest-to-goodness knee slapping laugh that no one else seemed to find funny. Least of all Geoffrey whose strained attempt at a polite smile ended at his thinned lips.

  “My wife is very well,” the accountant said. “And your fourth marriage? I hear you’ve been told to pay yet another round of alimony.”

  Lester took that attack in stride, though his nasty grin soured somewhat. “Tell the family to mind their own business.”

  “Then you mind yours.” Geoffrey was done with any pretense, apparently, the two facing off as Olivia stepped between them.

  “Gentlemen,” she said, “this is a fun and happy occasion. Please keep your internal conflicts to yourselves.”

  Lester grunted something obviously impolite while Geoffrey backed off, the burly head of the yacht club instead turning to grin and wink at Mom who forced a smile in return.

  “Looking good, Lucy,” he said.

  “Should be delicious, Lester,” she clipped back, all professional while I bit my tongue hard.

  “I bet.” He had to stop looking at Mom like that. Just. Gross.

  At least he didn’t come closer, keeping his distance and bending his head to talk in a quieter tone with Olivia. I didn’t get to ponder the family dynamics of the Patterson situation further. Because as I turned away, deep in thought, a shadow fell over me, followed instantly by the scent of too much sandalwood barely covering a case of B.O. that made me cringe before I looked up and into the eyes of Robert Carlisle.